Anderson's Lament
by fakeasain56
Summary: Why exactly does Anderson hate Sherlock? Let us count the ways...


Anderson _hated_ Sherlock Holmes. Everyone knew it. Sherlock knew it, Lestrade knew it, Sally knew it; the entire Yard knew it. It was a state of things that everyone just simply accepted.

A few people asked him why- Lestrade had been one of them. He found himself lying each time, unable to put the hatred into any true words. He had a feeling Lestrade knew he was lying, and it was a knife twist in the gut, but he didn't want to tell him the truth and end up disappointing him any further.

After all, most, if not all, his reasons revolved around Lestrade in the first place.

_ I hate him because he can call you Dad and I can't._

He could remember it still, warm, rough, steady hands that held him close when he was a lost teen, unable to see the forest for the trees. He hadn't known what he wanted in life then. The police man that had actually stopped to listen to him, for the first time in his life had been a warm surprise.

He wasn't good with things physically, but he had been told that he had a sharp mind.

So he had steamrolled his way through forensics, bringing his accomplishments to Lestrade like a lost puppy hoping for praise.

He had gotten it, and found a void in his life he hadn't even noticed slowly filling up under warm hands in a friendly clap to the shoulder, unspoken praise, and the knowledge that he was making the older man proud.

It wasn't until he was passing by Lestrade's office after a particularly trying case, did he hear Sherlock whine, "But _Dad_!" There was a moment of silence, and Anderson supposed that the shock Lestrade's face could well mirror his own. "I mean-" Sherlock's voice grew softer, less sure of itself.

Lestrade interrupted, "It's fine."

Anderson couldn't bear to hear any more, and walked away.

_I hate him because he insults you and you just take it._

The insults told Anderson where Sherlock was, long before anyone could point him in the right direction. The team of scientists cautiously skittered around, unwilling to get close to the action to do their jobs.

Anderson forged straight ahead as Sherlock's tone grew ever more venomous and demanding, "NO! YOU CAN'T DO SUCH A STUPID THING!"

"Sherlock, I told you- you have three minutes." Lestrade shook off the insults like they were nothing more then water rolling down the back of a duck. "Anderson will be here any minute-"

Sherlock snorted as he snarled, "If you would simply listen to me you brainless buffoon you'd have the killer already."

One hand wrapped snuggly around the strap to his forensics bag as he entertained visions of slowly strangling Sherlock.

The rather enjoyable daydreams disappeared with a slight pop as he rounded the corner, to find Sherlock standing far closer to Lestrade then was strictly necessary, hands flying in wild gestures, with Lestrade watching with perhaps only the slightest twitch to his mouth.

Anderson knew that smile- it was the same smile Lestrade had on when Anderson proudly announced that he had become a forensic scientist.

It was pride.

He swallowed hard when Sherlock turned to him, sniping, "Here comes the idiot. I'll leave you two to it then."

_I hate it when he calls me and idiot because he has no idea how hard I worked for this position._

Everyone knew about Lestrade in the Yard. Officially he was known as the Odd One Out- The officials didn't much like him, or his rather fast and loose playing with the rules. Quite probably the only reason why he was still in the Yard at all was because he got good results. As was, no one expected him to get promoted any further, even though by his age he was supposed to have made DCI.

Unofficially however… Unofficially it was a fight to get onto Lestrade's team. Everyone fought to get on the team- it was guaranteed that if you spent more then five months on his team then you were destined for greatness.

Anderson rather doubted anyone had bothered telling Lestrade that, as he had been rather surprised when Anderson had stuck around past the six month, but there was gratefulness mixed within, at not having to once again break in a new recruit.

He did get several nasty stares from others however as he ate lunch in the cafeteria. They blamed him for sticking around too long, and not letting them get their chance at using Lestrade as a stepping-stone.

He bristled under their stares, calmly returning them until they looked away.

And if one of them considered Lestrade very fatherly like as well… he was willing to work a schedule with them.

_I hate the fact that you know more about his life then we do._

Sherlock knew everything about everyone. It normally didn't bother Anderson-

But then there would be _those_ days.

When Lestrade would vanish for a few hours, and Sherlock was maddeningly quiet, while Anderson worried about what his father could be doing, until he turned up again.

Eventually he would, looking tired and worn, refusing to answer even Sherlock's looks of what could be concern.

Anderson just shut his mouth on those days, taking pleasure in the fact that the only reason Sherlock knew what had Lestrade so down was because he had ferreted out the answers himself and they hadn't been given of their own free accord, and worked silently in other ways to ease the man's burden.

He didn't know what happened on those days, but neither was he going to ask- not until Lestrade himself told him.

It would make the knowledge all the sweeter.

_But most of all I hate that I want to thank you._

Thank you for surprising a laugh out of Lestrade.

Thank you for dropping an occasional comment that makes his step lighter.

Thank you for always knowing where he is so you can rescue him at a moments notice.

Thank you for working with him.

Thank you for giving him a purpose when he didn't have one.

So very many thank you's that had no real purpose then to inflate the man's ego further, causing further grief to Lestrade as he battled with that ego to get his job done.

So he didn't say the thanks, instead chose to snipe and fight, following Sally's lead, bringing the man down just a few notches, refusing to acknowledge that somewhere in that time the fighting had turned friendly, teasing, and light.

He most certainly didn't acknowledge that when he and Sally talked to Lestrade about Sherlock, it went more into the surreal mode then any grounded fact, designed to bring out a smile.

So all thanks remained completely under wraps, but if it was said in other ways, like Anderson not arguing an important point and simply accepting it to nitpick at a small detail, or Sherlock accidentally leaving behind vital evidence…

Well, he wasn't going to say anything.

~Fini~


End file.
